


Love Is...

by MsLazykat



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLazykat/pseuds/MsLazykat
Summary: Azula learns how it feels to be loved and consequently, how it feels to be unloved.Cross posted on ff.net
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Love Is...

Love was a strange and disarming thing, an almost unwelcome concept. Azula had always sneered at the thought. Her first days in the asylum were spent doing just that; sneering. She spent her time in her room, never coming out to socialize with the other patients; she was a princess surrounded by commoners. Gritting her teeth, she laid down on her bed and scraped her nails against the wall. She thought about the vision she had of her mother on the day of her would-be coronation. The words she said. “I love you Azula, I do.” Azula laughed bitterly. Her mother never loved her.

She sat up and opened the blinds to her tiny room; the light shone on the stone walls. Everything was gray. She grunted in frustration. From silk tapestries and screen walls to this? Azula crouched beneath the window and drawing herself into a ball, hugged her knees. Her mind drifted back to her family. Her father loved her…well, he at least _approved_ of her. She remembered the look on his face when she first bent blue fire for him. The smile that bared all his teeth, the look in his eye. Love. That was love. She was loved by him. She was sure of it.

Azula uncurled a hand and placed it on the cool stone wall, splaying her fingers. The nurses had chi-blocked her when she entered the building. They do it every morning to make sure the patients don’t get too rowdy. She focused all her energy into her hand, attempting to firebend. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow, drawing on her breath, all the heat in her blood. She breathed out. The wall was still cool. She looked down at her hands.

_Who will love me now?_

* * *

The next day, Azula stayed in her room for lunch. Patients weren’t allowed to bring food into their rooms, but they let her. She was still very intimidating, even without her bending.

She sat on her bed and faced the window, spooning curry over her rice. The food was bland and the rice mushy, but she didn’t eat the entire first week she was there. The protesting brought nothing, of course, and she got a tip from one of the patients: the more you eat, the sooner you leave. The nurses watched their every move, cataloging their healthy behaviors, especially socialization and eating habits. She wasn’t going to _talk_ to any of the commoners, so eating was her only way to leave this place.

She shoveled the rice into her mouth and swallowed without chewing. It went down easy. It was _that_ mushy. Feeling the food slither down her throat made her shudder. She felt the most miserable during mealtime.

A loud crash startled her. The commotion came from the other side of the door. Setting her plate down slowly, she stood and looked around the room. The only thing she could arm herself with was a spoon. “Ugh!”

Azula heard someone shouting above the noise. “You did what?!” Even through the thick wood of the door, she could recognize that voice. It couldn’t be.

She slinked to the door and pressed her ear against it, listening intently.

“Please understand, we do this to all our patients,” she heard a nurse plea.

“She’s dangerous! Even without her bending!” another exclaimed.

More commotion. “You must not know how to do your jobs, then. She’s only fourteen! She’s not a criminal!”

At this, Azula stood. She slid open the latch of her peephole. It was him. Zuko.

He was dressed in full Fire Lord regalia. The gold flame at his top knot was all she could see as his back was turned. The nurses stood in front of him trying to calm him down. The common area furniture was in disarray around them. Nothing was burned. Fascinating. He turned and marched towards the door. Her door.

She gasped and stumbled backwards. With a few heavy thuds, the door fell forward. The room was suddenly flooded with light. Azula winced, covering her eyes. Before her eyes could adjust to the light, Zuko grabbed her wrist, dragging her out of the room.

“We’re leaving,” he snarled, shoving the nurses out of their way as they walked.

Azula watched as the other patients gawked at them. She moved clumsily as Zuko quickly dragged her along. She looked up at her brother who was staring straight ahead, his gold flame catching the light. He came back for her. He was so outraged. Did he even know she was here? Two weeks she hadn’t heard from him and suddenly he was at her door, taking her away? She glanced back at the startled nurses. He must not have known.

Her eyes moved to her room. The door was lying flat on the ground. Large, rusted bolts were scattered around it. Some of the staff gathered around to right the door. Azula looked back to her brother. From where she was, she could see his harsh frown.

 _Sometimes love is anger_.

* * *

Zuko was assured that whatever progress to her mental health that could be made could be done at home, in the palace. On her first day back, Azula was fitted for new robes and her hair was cut, fixing the fringe she had done herself on her would-be coronation. Zuko reintroduced her to the waitstaff, directing them to treat her gently and with respect, no matter what they thought of her in secret. Azula was accompanied everywhere by a lady-in-waiting, whose job was simply to keep her company. The lady-in-waiting never asked for more than what Azula was willing to give, and she appreciated that. They went for turns about the palace, walking in the garden and exploring the grounds. The two were mostly silent; Azula couldn’t stand discussing frivolous things with unimportant people, but she still enjoyed the company.

She was visited by a psychiatrist every week for a discussion about “feelings.” Azula wasn’t sure if it were a waste of time to for her to be talking to some man about things that didn’t matter, but she found herself missing their conversation during the weeks he couldn’t come.

And then there was the matter of Zuko. He gave Azula her space; they didn’t speak for several days after she arrived. When they did speak, it was a short greeting or a statement of where Zuko was going or what he had planned. After several weeks of their general avoidance of each other, Azula became embarrassed. Something about the time she spent with her lady-in-waiting and the conversations she had with her psychiatrist made her realize the stark reality of her actions. She had tried to _kill_ Zuko. And yet, here he was, not only allowing her to stay with him, but assuring her comfort. Their dance of avoidance became deliberate on her end as she was hit with the thought that he might not want anything to do with her.

Unfortunately, he sought her out.

Azula was in the courtyard, the very place she used her firebending last. It had been three months since she had left the asylum, but she still couldn’t bring herself to conjure even the smallest flame. Her time had become filled with passive, useless things like walks and needlepointing. They were distractions, but what did she need her firebending for, anyways? There’s no longer a war to fight in. She sighed, sitting on the steps. She didn’t need her bending anymore. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she couldn’t use it at all.

She heard Zuko’s footsteps before she felt him sit down next to her. She kept her eyes on the ground, refusing to look up at him. They sat in silence for a while before she spoke. “How can you stand to live here?”

She felt him look at her, but she stayed fast, staring at her feet. “What do you mean?”

Azula pointed to the center of the courtyard. “I struck you right there. You almost died.”

Zuko followed her gaze to the stone tiles but said nothing.

Azula brought her hands down to her lap, staring at them. “This is the last place I used my firebending. I haven’t used it in so long.” She clenched her fists.

“Why not?”

Azula looked to the concrete steps. “Does it matter? We don’t need to fight anymore.”

Zuko glanced at his shoes, pressing his foot against the steps before changing the subject. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

She raised her head. “You wanted to talk?”

Zuko shrugged. “Not really. You’ve been here for three months. I thought there should be _something_ to say by now.”

Azula scoffed. “What’s there to say? I’m sorry for almost killing you? I’m thankful that you took me out of the asylum?” she sneered. She turned to him expecting some sort of reaction, but his eyes stayed trained on something in the middle distance. He said nothing.

Azula felt the hostile atmosphere she created and winced. Her words came out harsher than she intended. The space between them was quiet for several minutes.

“I really am thankful that you got me out. You didn’t have to do that. You would have been right to leave me in there,” she said softly. Her eyes found their way back down to the concrete steps.

“It wouldn’t have been right,” Zuko said after an eternity of silence. “You needed help, not punishment.”

Azula’s raised her eyebrows. Help? “Help?”

Zuko faced his sister. “A fourteen-year-old girl doesn’t go through rigorous combat training, hunt another child for sport, and have a mental breakdown without needing help.”

Azula was taken aback. She clenched her fist. Maybe he had a point about the mental breakdown. “Everything I did was for our father.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘exactly’? He loved me and I wanted to make him proud!” Azula felt her temperature rising. Her brother’s calm was starting to grate her nerves.

“You need to think about who _you_ are, Azula. Who are you when you’re not trying to make our father proud?” Zuko looked into her eyes, searching them. “You’ve spent your whole life under his protection out of fear for what he’ll do to you when he’s not proud.”

“That’s not true!” Azula’s voice was rough; she was on the verge of shouting. “You’re jealous that he loves me more!”

“Why would I want the love of somebody that did _this_ to me?” Zuko gestured to his scar. “I was a child, Azula. And you were too when you saw him do it.”

Azula frowned harshly, the corners of her mouth twitching as she pressed her lips together. Her voice broke, tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t care. He loved me.”

Zuko sighed, shaking his head. He dropped his head between his knees and spoke lowly. “Go to his cell.”

Azula sniffled. “What?”

“Go to his cell,” he repeated. “See him tomorrow.” Zuko stood. He ascended the steps, leaving out of the gilded doors whence he came.

Azula watched him go, feeling just as disheveled as she did the day she struck him with lightening.

* * *

The next day, Azula did as her brother told, going to the prison on the mainland. She arrived alone; Zuko said he wasn’t going to accompany her but sent for a convoy to allow her safe return. Being at the same prison her uncle had wasted away in reminded her of the days when Zuko used to sneak out to visit him. Now she was there in broad daylight, instead of the cloak of night, visiting their father.

She walked down the winding halls of the prison spire wearily. The halls had no windows and were lit by torches. To her surprise, most of the cells were empty. She thought on this and remembered that this prison was for political prisoners. They were most likely awaiting retrial and had been moved to another location. Her thoughts occupied her as she walked; she hadn’t even noticed her father’s cell until she passed it.

“Princess,” a guard called after her.

Azula stopped walking and turned around.

The guard gestured to the cell he was facing.

She retread her steps and was standing in front of the cell door.

The guard reached for the key ring on his belt and unlocked the door, pushing it open but not going inside.

Azula walked forward, taking in the small room and its high ceiling. The large slabs of stone that made up the walls were gray, not unlike the walls of her room in the asylum. It took her a moment, but she spotted her father hunched in a corner behind the iron bars of his cell. The only light in the room was that streaming from the small window above the iron bars and the open door, outside of which the guard was still standing. She couldn’t see his face, but he was dressed in rags, for lack of a better word, and his air was long and in disarray. Azula had never in her life seen her father without his crown or his elegant robes. The sight shook her.

“Father!” she cried frantically.

He then turned his head, wincing at the light pouring in from the door. His eyes widened when he recognized her. “Azula?” He stumbled to the cell bars.

Azula rushed to them, too, stopping before she got too close. Seeing her father in such a state almost scared her. He looked like a common beggar. This was likely what she looked like in the asylum. The thought made her hair stand on end.

Ozai grabbed the iron bars. “How did you get free?”

She held herself at a distance, afraid of coming close to the man she had trouble recognizing as her father. “I didn’t get free. Zuko took me out.”

“Did they send you to prison, too?”

Azula sat on the floor at her father’s eye level in deference. “No, but it might as well have been.”

Ozai leaned back, relaxing into a seated position. “He put you in prison just to take you out? He wants you to be his debtor.”

“He never put me there,” she explained, “I was sent there without his knowledge. He found me and got me out.”

The two fell silent. Azula didn’t know what she expected to come of her visit. She and her father were never _close_ , per se. They never bonded or spent afternoons in the palace gardens as Zuko had with their mother. In fact, she rarely saw her father, having spent most of her childhood afternoons alone. He was always busy with something or just couldn’t be bothered with her. Now in front of him for the first time in three months, Azula realized she didn’t really know the man or have much to say to him.

“What is your plan?” he asked finally.

Azula cocked her head. “Plan?”

“For retaking the throne,” he said impatiently. “You came here. You must have some news for me! Your brother allowed you back into the palace; you didn’t even have to infiltrate. You were _let_ in, the trusting fool!”

She shook her head. “No, father. He’s been good to me. Since the day of my coronation I––”

“Don’t recount to me your failures,” he spat.

This took Azula aback. Her shoulder fell back as if she had been shot with an arrow. She was quiet for a moment before continuing. “I’m not here to retake the throne,” she said, her voice small.

“Then why would you come?!”

“I … I wanted to see you.”

Her father scoffed before laughing bitterly. He dragged a hand down his face. “Get out of my sight.”

“What?!” Azula shot up onto her feet.

“I said get out of my sight, you disgrace! Get out!” he bent flames that licked at her feet.

Azula stumbled backwards in shock.

Ozai had a similar look of shock on his face. “Why didn’t you firebend?”

She hung her head in shame.

He shook his head. “You’ve fallen so far. And you come here to dishonor me with your presence.”

Azula felt tears tightening her vocal chords and stinging her eyes. She wanted to leave. But she finally remembered something she had to say to him. “Did you ever love me?”

Ozai sneered. “How could I ever love a child like you?”

* * *

Azula cried on the carriage ride back to the palace. She hated herself for visiting her father. She hated herself for not thinking to deceive Zuko. But most of all, she hated herself for crying. Every few minutes, she willed herself to stop, only to start up again seconds later. She was still in tears when Zuko received her at the palace gates.

She ran into his arms and he pulled her into a tight embrace. He smoothed a hand down her hair. “I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

_This is what love is not._


End file.
